


Pink

by WritingForTheRevolution



Series: Shades of You [7]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Colors, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:28:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25022416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingForTheRevolution/pseuds/WritingForTheRevolution
Summary: Roses, sweetness, sugar, romance.Love is supposed to be pink.
Relationships: Aaron Burr/Theodosia Prevost Burr, Alexander Hamilton & Maria Reynolds, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, Maria Reynolds/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Thomas Jefferson & Angelica Schuyler, Thomas Jefferson/James Madison
Series: Shades of You [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/759168
Comments: 7
Kudos: 28





	Pink

Pink.

It was the opaque shade of half the lipsticks scattered across the various flat surfaces in her room, the color of the sunrise as it peeked through her curtains early in the summer. It had been the color of her senior year prom dress, classy and form-fitting with enough of a skirt for a good twirl in all the pictures she had posted on her Instagram and printed out for her college dorm wall. She saw it in the cheeks of kids on their first dates, watched it stain her fingers as she ate the strawberries that grew in their kitchen, and pressed stamps into it as she sealed letters to her favorite people with shiny wax.

It had been Angelica’s favorite color for as long as she could remember, the one that had meant more to her than a girly toddler phase between the ages of six and twelve before dissipating after she reached teenager status.

It was the color she tamped down in her heart when she got the phone call the week after exams ended, the color she could feel rising in her cheeks as she tried to navigate the seemingly impossible world of plane tickets and money, and the color of the flowers at the front desk when she sweeps her windblown hair from her face and asks to see Catherine Schuyler.

It was the color that drained from her father’s face when the doctor came out and whispered his apologies.

It was the color that felt foreign in the house in the weeks after the funeral, the laughter that appeared every so often and disappeared just as quickly. It hovered around the pictures of her mother, the ones where Angelica could finally see the likeness that people always talked about, and it highlighted the similarities between Angelica’s face and her mother’s more than she could handle at the moment. It was the soft singing that floated under her door as Peggy put the babies back to sleep at two in the morning, it was the creak of the floorboards as Eliza tiptoed to her door, and it was the tears she wiped silently from her face because she didn’t want to let her sisters hear her cry.

It was the tone she tried to erase from her skin with layers of makeup as she threw herself back into her schoolwork and her job, and it was the tint of the eyes that stared back at her in the mirror every single morning. It was the color she tried to think of whenever Eliza worried over her, the peacefulness that she tried to find outside herself, but it was the bubble that popped when she finally snapped that she didn’t want to talk about it anymore.

It was the color she resolved she’d never see again, not when her mother wasn’t there to see it with her.

When she started to see the study abroad posters plastered across campus, it was the color of the blossoms on the trees when she strode into the student center and asked where she could get an application. It was the color painted atop the text indicating where she needed to add extra documentation, and it bounced across her vision as she read the tiny text on every page to make sure she hadn’t missed a single detail. It was the color of the congratulatory text in the email she opened a month later telling her she had been accepted.

It was the color of the ink in her notebook at the first meeting, the color that stained her fingers as she steadily filled the pages with details about France. It was the smooth drawl of the person who asked if the seat beside her was taken, and it was the beat her heart stopped on when she looked up into the eyes of Thomas Jefferson.

She had seen him around campus before, sometimes in her classes, but mostly hanging out with James Madison. And James’ eyes had always betrayed him, dripping with the color whenever he was gazing at Thomas. It was also the color that bounced off of Thomas when James stared at him, the color that Thomas never seemed to realize was directed at him.

So if Thomas was going to let the color slip into his voice and his smile and his body when he talked to Angelica, she was going to let the color do what it wanted.

It was the color of the tea in her hands as she sat in the cold airport seats and tried to wake up at a stupid hour of the morning. It was the color that dusted the underside of the clouds when they were finally called to board and the color of at least five suitcases that were lifted into the overhead storage. She felt it when her stomach dropped during takeoff, and again when they were flying miles above the clouds and everything seemed miniscule and unimportant for a few hours.

The color painted the signage of the boutiques they passed on every street and tinted the skies at sunset when she wandered the streets after class. It made itself known with the flowery scent of the air and the sweet pastries and the cotton candy lightness in her heart whenever Thomas smiled at her.

It was the color of the lights in the clubs she was actually allowed to go into, the color of the most fruity drinks on the menu that she tried more often than once. It was the color of Thomas’ sweet words and fleeting touches when they walked around alone, and it was the tinge of the marks on Thomas’ neck when he slipped back into the main room of the hostel they were staying at, the color that remained after lips parted with the skin. It was the color of her thoughts when she decided that she didn’t care, that she was fine with the color being directed toward her when Thomas flirted and toward others at the nightclubs and the cafés and the tiny boutiques. After all, this wasn’t a serious color.

It was the color that finally exploded after a few weeks of smiles and touches and too many glances. It was the way Thomas kissed her, the heat of her skin against cool sheets, and the gentle press of fingers against the insides of her wrists. It was the bliss of a night where she was the one with the color staining her neck the next morning.

Then it became a serious color.

It was the happiness when she hugged her sisters at the airport in December, the blissful and bittersweet end to a wonderful semester abroad. It was the warmth of returning to a house that was filled with music, finally, after a year of darkness where the color couldn’t exist. It was a familiar color, the one that showed her exactly where she belonged.

It was the color that had flooded her vision when Alexander Hamilton came up to her at Thomas’ next party, the color of the words that made her head spin while her inner romantic swooned at his wits and his charm. It was the color of his voice as he talked smoothly about never being satisfied, and the color she left him with when she finally gave in and said she’d like to talk with him again.

It would be the color that struck her when she realized he had been right about never being satisfied.

It was the blush that had spread across Eliza’s face when she whispered in Angelica’s ear about the boy across the room, the hum of the song that was playing when she walked back over to Alexander, and the smirk he gave her when he inquired as to why she desired to talk to him again so soon.

It was the color she watched fade with every step she took back towards her sister on Alex’s arm and the color of the choice she made to give him up.

It was the color of the lights that flashed behind her as she sat alone on the balcony, wiping the color from her face before she glanced back into the room to see Alexander and Eliza standing close, the color of the lovestruck expression across her sister’s face when Alexander laughs at something she said. It was the color that surrounded Alexander entirely, and the color she realized she’d never get to have. Not with him.

It was the comfort that accompanied the thought that Thomas was into her, that the color in his flirtatious smiles could always be directed at her if she decided to make a move.

It brushed against her face when she whipped back around just before James walked through the doors, and again when Thomas followed moments later. It appeared in the murmured exchange between Thomas and James, in the scent of Thomas’ cologne that she knew all too well, and in the tiny movement that made her turn her head right as Thomas pressed his lips to James’.

It was the color she knew was plain on her face and the color she didn’t bother to hide, even in front of James, as it welled up in her eyes when she watched Thomas disappear into the crowd.

It was the nearly constant blush across Eliza’s cheeks whenever she talked to Alexander, whenever her phone glowed with another text, whenever she posted pictures of them on their dates, enveloped completely with the color.

But it was also the color she caught in John’s eyes, the quietly pining feeling she knew all too well because she had felt it in her heart one too many times. It somehow surrounded the sketches of Alexander that filled John’s sketchbook, and it was the silence she kept because she knew she had never wanted anyone to know how much she had been drowning in the color, so she wasn’t about to call him out in return.

It was the color of the entryway when she first pulled Alexander aside, and the color that tinted her words as she warned him not to hurt her sister.

It was the uneasiness in Thomas’ voice when he approached her and asked her if he had done anything stupid at the party, and it flitted between his fingers when he twisted his hands and said that James had told him he hadn’t. It was the hesitancy she felt tugging at her heart and the confession she felt tugging at her throat, the thought that maybe she had a chance, and it was the choice she made when she told Thomas that he had kissed James.

It was the color she watched slip away once again as she stared into Thomas’ eyes and realized that his portion of the color would always be for James.

She knew it filled the glances she stole at James during their shared class, when she saw how Thomas had started avoiding him after their conversation. It was the guilt that tore at her thoughts when she thought about how easy it would have been to lie to Thomas, and the feeling that gripped her insides when she realized that she had been ready to.

It jumped in her chest as she waited for the rest of the class to leave, and it steadied her voice when she gripped James’ arm and admitted that she’d told Thomas what had happened at the party. It was the friction against her skin when he tore her arm from her grasp, and the pain she knew shone on her face as she tried to convey too many wordless apologies for how badly she handled this color.

It was the protectiveness that burned in her heart when Eliza said that she and Alexander had broken up, the color that simmered down slightly when she said that Alexander had reacted as well as her sisters had. And she knew it was the flash of hope in her eyes that betrayed her for just a second when she realized that she could have a chance with Alexander.

But it was the color that flitted straight from Eliza to John when he and Alexander started dating, the head-over-heels type of love that was saturated in the color. And it was the color that Angelica watched float away for a third time when she saw how happy they were together.

She didn’t think the color was supposed to hurt this much.

It bubbled with the flurry of messages that flooded the group chat and received no reply when Alexander and Herc and John were all absent from their next movie night. It was the glow of her screen every time she checked her phone that night, and it echoed with the thud from Eliza’s room when something fell to the floor. It was the color that tinged Eliza’s face the next morning, the color of faded tear tracks across her cheeks, and it piqued Angelica’s curiosity when Eliza said everything was fine.

It was the color that started to appear under Aaron’s eyes whenever she saw him, the color of the protective bubble he had built up around himself and his tiny daughter, the color that had drifted away from Aaron’s life when he lost the one person who had made the most difference. It was a color that he needed, and a color that was difficult to give back to someone.

It was the color that wrapped itself warmly around her heart when Eliza walked in with a beautiful girl and introduced her as her girlfriend. It was the color she didn’t really mind as she passed Peggy a sum of money because she had made a stupid bet and lost. And it was the color that passed between Maria and John when John slipped out the door. It was the snap of the expletives that Herc muttered before he ran out after John, and the color that retreated into Maria as she, too, ran out the door.

It colored the soft inhale Eliza took before she began to explain, and it was the color that built in front of Angelica’s eyes with each word. Anger, yes, but the color also tinted the resignation and acknowledgement when she realized that Alexander had been right about never being satisfied. He would have never been satisfied with anyone, even herself.

It was the color that pounded in her head when she next saw Alexander, the color that accompanied the biting insults she threw his way when she called him stupid and unthoughtful. It was the color that spilled out of her when she told him that she had fallen for his charms, when she told him that Eliza had fallen too and she had given up her chance with him for her sister, when she told him that she had stood by when John had fallen too. It was the color that finally pushed his gaze to the floor when she told him that he had been right, that he would _never_ be satisfied.

It was the color of new skin forming around the scars on John’s arms, the color of healing even when the healing didn’t spread any further than the physical injuries. It was the color of the broken shards in John’s eyes when he finally caught her gaze, the color that slipped down his cheeks when he thought no one could see, the color of heartbreak that Angelica knew would never fully fade.  
It was the color that Angelica had grown up with, the color she had trusted for so many years, but it’s also the color that has caused her so much pain in so little time. It’s a color that seems soothing, but will hurt if given the chance.  
Later, it’s the color in the cheeks of the girl that John introduces as his daughter, and it’s the surprise that’s palpable in the room when John says he and Alex are trying again. It’s the color of the biting words of advice she gives him, telling him outright that it’s a bad idea. It’s the color of the hope she can see lingering in John’s eyes even as he agrees with her, and the color that tells her that he’s not going to listen to her and will try again anyway.

It’s the color that makes her wonder if Alexander will take this second chance for all that it’s worth.

It’s the color she sees in everyone else, the color that surrounds the relationships of the people she loves. It’s the color she wants so badly for herself, and the color that constantly eludes her grasp, staying as out of reach as the tinted clouds in the sky at sunrise.

And it’s the color she abandons, the color that she’ll never get to have even after she loved it with starburst and nail polish and clothes in the hopes that some of the color would stick to her, too. It’s a color she doesn’t believe in anymore.

After all, it’s just a color.

_Right?_

**Author's Note:**

> After three whole years of this series existing, this is the final one. This was definitely my favorite to write because I've always had Angelica as the observant one, both here and in other fics of mine, so she gets to see most of what happens in the other sections. Thank you to everyone who has been here since the beginning. I hope you have enjoyed the ride.
> 
> Coming soon: Shades of Two (a.k.a. the other perspective)


End file.
